It Was a Metaphor
by med-anomaly
Summary: Wilson confronts House regarding his fellows and their own relationship. Postep. for Human Error. HouseWilson.


The key is cold and jagged. Wilson fingers it lightly, feeling the weight of it in his hands before using it to enter House's apartment. It has been months since he last used it. The boundary of knocking had offered security while he and House traversed so many other boundaries in their relationship. Tonight was not a night for boundaries. He strode into the apartment coming to a stop a few feet away from where House was seated on the couch fiddling with a guitar. Wilson spared them unnecessary pleasantries.

"So, you got rid of the whole team. What was it? They care too much when they thought you had brain cancer? What are you avoiding? What are you running away from?" he asked with unmasked exasperation.

"Hate to burst your bubble, but I haven't been running, can't," House said putting aside the guitar and holding his cane up off the ground for emphasis.

"It was a metaphor. Perhaps, you're familiar with the concept," Wilson said irritably. The tip-toeing around each other had to stop.

"Not running Wilson, not metaphorically, and certainly not literally," House said, not quite bitterly, but not quite neutrally either.

"Is that what this is about? Delayed reaction to the failed Ketamine?" Wilson asked, eager to understand, though things had started unraveling before the Ketamine failed. Physically, they were more intimate than ever, but sleeping together hadn't recaptured lost closeness.

"Yes, I went from being normal, running eight miles a day to being slave to the pain, cane and pills again and just couldn't be bothered to react until now. Thank you for enlightening me Dr. Wilson. You know, you might want to consider switching from Oncology to Psychiatry," House said, wondering why in the hell Wilson couldn't just leave well enough alone. He always had to push.

"House, you have never been normal," Wilson mocked. "I'm just trying to figure out what this is about," Wilson said more gently, shifting his weight between his feet.

"Well, maybe that's your problem. There is no this, and it's not about anything."

"So, what? You got rid of your team on a whim?"

"Technically, I only got rid of Chase. Cameron and Foreman left on their own."

"And you didn't stop them!"

"Nope," House replied tersely, even though it hadn't really been a question.

"The last time Cameron resigned, you did whatever you could to get her back."

"The last time, she didn't really want to leave."

"Chase didn't want to leave."

"Maybe not, but he was ready to."

"That's it? He was ready, so you fired him?" Wilson asked incredulously. His face remained tense though his heart warmed at the image of a mother bird pushing her little one out of the nest so he could fly.

"Pretty much."

"Getting fired is a big deal House. It'll have consequences. He deserved better than that."

"Relax, he'll be fine. What do you care anyway? It's not like I fired you." And yet, in a way, that's exactly what he had done. Going to Cuddy instead of Wilson for Morphine she didn't give him anyway, forging prescriptions, stealing pills and taking enough to end up nearly unconscious with a puddle of vomit keeping his face company on the floor, faking brain cancer, all those times and others in between, he had rejected Wilson. He hadn't trusted Wilson to give him what he needed, to be who he needed.

"Yes, well, some of us are capable of caring about what happens to other people. Go figure."

"Well, Mister Caring and Compassion. Oh, my bad, Doctor Caring and Compassion," House said drawing each word out. "You'll be happy to know that I already recommended Chase for another position."

"You…Seriously?" Wilson asked, caught off guard. Maybe House wasn't throwing people away after all. Maybe he didn't have to worry that he'd be next.

"Yup," House said smugly trying to ignore the fact that Wilson yelling at him, hounding him, made him feel good. As hard a time as he might give him for it, the Wilson who cared was his Wilson, the one he could trust.

"That was quick."

"Apparently, too quick for your gossip line. I would have thought that your 'House has done something' bat phone would have rang the moment I did it," House said watching the realization dawn.

"The position Cuddy was going to give Foreman? You asked her to offere it to Chase?"

"I suggested that if she was so hell-bent on expanding Diagnostics she should do it with someone who was qualified."

"And you consider Chase qualified?" Wilson asked smiling with his voice, the bird's nest popping back into his head.

"He's been ready for a while now, since Christmas. If he wants to stick around, it's a good position," House said quietly, sincerely. He had known the moment Chase told him about the girl, not because Chase had gotten the right diagnosis, but because he had stopped the surgery before coming to tell him; because he hadn't stopped thinking about the case after House had thought it concluded, because he had believed in himself, and of course, because he had gotten the right diagnosis. The right answer without the commitment to it was as useless as the wrong answer with all the commitment in the world.

"You want him to stay," Wilson said with an inflection that made it half-way between a question and a statement.

"What I want is irrelevant."

"It's relevant to me."

"What has got you so invested in Chase? What are you in love with him or something?" House mocked unwilling to admit that he did kind of want Chase to stay.

"I'm not invested in Chase," Wilson said with a depth of emotion that made any reply fall dead on House's lips. He really looked at Wilson for the first time all evening, and he understood. The hunger for more, the fear of rejection, the longing for something new that was at the same time old and familiar, they were all etched into Wilson's face, whispering in his breath, and House understood.

"Oh, so that's the ulterior motive behind this whole 'change is good' business. You want to change the arrangement," House said coolly. They had started sleeping together some time ago, but kept it low-key, hardly ever speaking of it, which at times seemed to translate into them hardly ever speaking.

"You assumed there was an ulterior motive?" Wilson asked, unsurprised.

"With you, I don't assume, I know. You're just as manipulative a bastard as I am. Probably more so considering no one actually knows to call you that."

"But you do," Wilson said, knowing that that was part of why he loved House. He saw right through him and understood the duality of Wilson's caring. Wilson cared enough to want the best for House, which also meant he was willing to do whatever it took to try to make that happen. If there had ever been doubt of that, Tritter had erased it.

"Well, I can see past the boyish charm to the manipulative and apparently gay core within."

"I'm not gay. I just-"

"Please, the shoes, the hair, the inordinate knowledge of musicals and the Village People. You've always been gay. You just needed the right guy to come along and make an honest man out of you," House said playfully. He was willing to put aside his fear and try to have a relationship with Wilson. After all, Wilson was the one to protect him in his relationship with others, how bad could it really be.

"Well, what about you with the sneakers and the…well, you have a lot of sneakers," Wilson said floundering for a moment before smiling and snapping his fingers, "And oh that's right, you like to suck cock. You're living a lie too."

"Only yours, and well, everybody's doing it."

"Ah yes, when all else fails, take a jab at Wilson's infidelity," Wilson said tiredly. This was getting old. A turning point had been reached. They needed to either move forward, together, or move on. Living in between wasn't really living.

"I meant everybody's living a lie."

"Not me. Not any more. I want to move back in, to give us a real shot," Wilson said with conviction.

"Yes, you've been honest, honest, honest. For, oh, look at that a whole thirty seconds," House said looking down at his watch. "thirty one, thirty two, thirty-"

"It's a start, and I'm serious."

"I'll think about it," House said even though he already had. Better to let Wilson squirm a bit. He was cute when he squirmed.

"I got a new guitar," he said after Wilson sat down next to him on the couch, deflated.

"That's good," Wilson replied trying hard to keep the sadness and defeat he felt out of his voice. The fellows, the guitar, it was a start, but none of it was the change Wilson had been hoping for.

"Still hanging on to the old one too."

"Baby steps," Wilson said with a sigh, picking at invisible lint on his tie.

"Really? I was hoping to get some action tonight. How about small steps with the guitar and big giant leaps to the bedroom?" House said with a smirk.

"Oh, so you haven't been running, but now you can leap?" Wilson said darkly, still feeling dejected. He was unsure of whether he was willing to take what House could give him tonight if it wasn't everything. He wanted a chance at a real life with House so desperately. In truth, he had been living a life with House since the day they'd met. Other people, Stacy, his wives, they were accessory. It had always been about him and House. It was time for their lives to match the reality of that fact.

"It was a metaphor Jimmy. Perhaps you're familiar with the concept," House said rising from the couch and making his way down the hall leaving Wilson as alone as he felt. "Besides, if you're going to be staying here, we've got to break in the old mattress some time," House tossed over his shoulder, smiling at the grin that engulfed Wilson's face as he scrambled to join him.


End file.
